*This post will contain stuff you might not like to read… Just warning you.
I watched a TV program this morning that we have on this side of the world and on it, they were talking about self harm. This is something I’ve not really spoken about much in the blog, mostly because I still find it a rather difficult subject to discuss. It’s something I’m totally ashamed of. It’s something I try to hide as much as possible. I haven’t done it in a couple of years. In fact, I don’t think I’ve done it since I left Big Love and the other side of the world.
Self harming isn’t cool and this is something I wish I’d have realised when I first started doing it. I was 13 when it started. So young…
When you cut yourself, it doesn’t matter what you use, how you do it, how careful you are, etc, there are still going to be times where you scare yourself. Even now, 15 years after I first started doing it and 2 years since I last took a blade to my skin, I can still see my scars. I look down at my legs and I can see that huge split. That one scared me. I was in the bathroom of my house on the other side of the world, crying on the floor. We’d had another fight I’m sure (Big Love and I), although I can’t remember what it was about. I pulled apart one of my razors, like I normally do, grabbed one of the blades and pushed it down onto the skin of my leg. As I dragged it along, the skin split like a sausage, cooking and sizzling on a BBQ.
I terrified myself that day. Even though I had been doing it for a few years, I’d never seen the skin split like that. It bled for a really long time as well. I’m used to the bleeding now. In fact, I think that’s part of the reason I used to do it; that was a lot of blood though. It took a lot of damp-tissue-dabbing to stem that flow.
Of course, when I went to bed last night, all the tossing and turning that I apparently do in my sleep caused the cuts to bleed. I was wearing pyjama pants but still blood pooled on the brand new white bed sheets. Big Love saw it. Let the fight commence.
The Big Love was rather weird about my self harming. At first he was sympathetic, trying to do anything to stop me from doing it. Later on in the relationship, he admitted that there was something about it that turned him on. He knew that knives turned me on. He knew that I was a bit weird like that. When he was in the War Zone, he cut himself (just a little bit) on the hip, showing me via video chat. It was foreplay. But it didn’t stop there.
There were a couple of nights that we were coked up and knife-play had come into our foreplay regime. He had a knife against my throat as I was lying on the living room floor while the other hand explored all around my naked body. Then there was the time he was fucking me on the couch and as he was pounding away, he tugged a serrated kitchen knife across my upper thigh.
There was a very dangerous point during our relationship that he basically gave me the go-ahead to cut myself. It became the norm after every fight we had, regardless of how big or small. It became part of our sex life. It was during this time that the “sausage-split” happened.
At the end of our relationship, he grew to be very spiteful about my self-harming. During a fight he once said to me: “Why don’t you just go cut yourself now and save us both the hassle of a fight?”
That cut me deeper than any knife could ever have done. He had known what the Hubby had said to me and how it still stuck in my mind – “Why don’t you go find your best friend; the razor blade? Do it properly this time, will you?”
My battle with self harm has been exactly that; a battle. It’s still a battle now. I can’t remember the last time I wore a bikini or a swimsuit. I just can’t get my legs out in public. The scars have faded to a point where most people probably wouldn’t see them without looking closer, but I can see them. I don’t even wear shorts or skirts that could potentially show them. I freak out whenever someone touches my leg, something Jock has recently discovered. It just makes me really uncomfortable.
Self harming is an addiction, I believe. I also believe that I replaced my self harming addiction with an addiction to piercings and tattoos. The periods in my life that I HAVEN’T self harmed have been the same periods of time that I’ve had the most body modding. If I’m not getting a new piercing or a tattoo, I’m changing my hair colour. That’s the way I roll. Some people consider getting a piercing self-harm. Is there a difference?
I used to get the same rush from cutting myself as I did from getting a new piercing. Slightly shaking with adrenaline, heart pumping, ouch. The pain offered me a release. It’s like releasing a valve and letting the pressure out. I didn’t like the pain much. It really hurts. Watching the cuts slowly fill with blood was the bit I used to enjoy. That long deep breath out. That’s always when I felt better.
Afterwards I used to hate myself with a passion. The cuts would bleed on and off for a while, usually on my bed sheets or clothes. As they started to heal, they’d get really itchy. If I scratched them, the cuts would open again and they’d bleed some more. It’s a pain in the ass cycle, but a cycle I couldn’t find myself breaking.
I did stop the self harming from time to time. I’d go for months and in some cases, years without doing it. Then something would happen and I couldn’t stop myself. It’s an addiction. It’s dangerous too.
I don’t know what compels me to harm myself in this way. I know it’s wrong. I’m ashamed of it. I hate people seeing the scars on my legs. You know when you get such rage and you can’t stop yourself from lashing out and smacking someone? That’s how it feels for me but it’s more calculated than that. I know it’s wrong when I pull apart a razor blade. I know it’s wrong when I pull my jeans down. I know it’s wrong when I do it. When I get in that frame of mind though, I don’t know why but I just can’t stop myself.
It has long term effects that you probably don’t take into account at the time. You don’t remember that you’re going to have these scars for many years. 15 years later and I can still see scars from when I did it right at the beginning. You don’t think about that when you’re doing it.
So there you have it. A bit about me and my self harm. Just thought I’d have my say. You know, coz that’s what I do.